


Choices To Define Us

by Izzyaro (Isilarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Indian Harry Potter, Indian Potter Family (Harry Potter), Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Izzyaro
Summary: No-one was expecting the Boy Who Lived to end up in Slytherin. No-one was expecting the youngest Weasley boy to follow him there. No-one expected the son of Madam Zabini to go anywhere else. They were all mistaken. The wizarding world is in for a very interesting few years.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	Choices To Define Us

“Better be SLYTHERIN!”

For a long moment, Ron Weasley forgot to breathe. Harry - Harry Potter! - had been Sorted into Slytherin. Slytherin! The home of every Dark wizard for centuries. Dark lords were always Slytherins, everyone knew that. Only evil wizards were sent there. That was what his brothers had always said.

But Harry wasn’t evil.

Ron thought about how shy and scared Harry had looked sitting alone in the compartment, about how he didn’t know anything about the magical world, about how he bought more sweets than Ron had ever seen in his life and shared them without even thinking about it. He remembered how Harry had refused to shake Malfoy’s hand, and how he had stood up for Ron despite only knowing him a few hours, and for the first time a sliver of doubt wormed its way into his heart.

Slytherins were evil, but Harry Potter was not.

“Weasley, Ronald.”

Ron started. He had completely forgotten about the Sorting. He stumbled over to the stool, almost collapsing onto it. The last thing he saw as the Hat dropped down over his face was a pair of terrified green eyes.

_“My, my, you are an interesting lot this year.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ Ron demanded _. “And why did you put Harry in Slytherin?”_

 _“I believe we are here to talk about you, Mr. Weasley, not your classmates,”_ said the Hat dryly.

_“But-”_

_“Yes, very interesting. A surprisingly logical mind; that does help with chess I suppose. Loyalty, oh yes, there is very little you wouldn’t do for someone who has earned your trust. Even start to consider changing your mind about Slytherin.”_

_“What?”_ Ron yelped. “ _I haven’t-”_

 _“You students would do well to listen to my songs now and then,”_ the Hat interrupted, and its voice was so firm that Ron fell silent. _“Slytherin does not deserve the reputation it currently bears.”_

_“But You-Know-Who was a Slytherin!”_

_“And many of his followers were Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors, yes, even Gryffindors. Actually, the house least likely to turn out Dark wizards is Hufflepuff, but we are drifting from the matter at hand.”_

Ron was silent for a minute. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, but it wasn’t like the Sorting Hat had any reason to lie to him. _“Why are you telling me all this?”_ he asked finally. _“I’m not going to stop talking to Harry, if that’s what you’re after.”_

_“I am glad to hear that, but as I said before, we are not here to talk about Harry Potter.”_

It took a long moment to get it, then, _“You’ve got to be joking!”_

_“Not about this, Mr. Weasley.”_

_“There’s never been a Weasley in Slytherin!”_

_“There has not,”_ the Hat agreed. _“Unless you count Cedrella Weasley, though admittedly she was born a Black and married into your family. But then again, I thought you wanted to be out of your brothers’ shadows?”_

Ron’s arguments died in his throat. The Hat took full advantage of his silence. _“You want to stand out from your family. You want to be known and respected for who you are. You have a good mind, when you choose to use it, and you are strong enough to choose your own path. You could do very well in Slytherin.”_

Ron shook his head numbly, but a larger part of him than he would like to admit was actually considering it. It would be different. Certainly none of his brothers had done it. But what would they say? What would his parents say? The thought was as terrifying as it was intriguing.

The Hat was silent, and Ron somehow knew it wouldn’t say anything else. This was his decision.

He had been told he was strong enough to choose his own path. Ron closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and did so.

* * *

Harry Potter was still reeling from the Sorting Hat’s decision. He was a Slytherin. Voldemort, the man who killed his parents, had been a Slytherin. He had tried to argue when the Hat suggested it, but hadn’t had a chance before it was bellowing its decision and sealing Harry’s fate. He had barely registered the whispers that rippled through the Great Hall, or the frowns on some of the teachers’ faces. He hadn’t been able to look at Hagrid.

He had felt the derision coming from his new housemates though. No one had made space for him, and he had sunk onto the very end of the bench feeling like he was back in primary school, where everyone knew who he was, and no one would dare be friendly to him for risk of angering Dudley. Malfoy was whispering fiercely a few seats away, his grey eyes glittering, and Harry swallowed. He didn’t exactly regret rejecting Malfoy on the train, not after the way he’d looked at Ron, but Harry had to admit that it was going to make life harder.

At least he had a chance with the other first-years, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry watched Ron sit to be Sorted with horribly mixed feelings. His friend had looked horrified, and Harry remembered with a pang what Ron had said on the train. Surely being a Slytherin couldn’t matter that much. They could still be friends.

The brim of the Hat split open, and Harry’s heart started pounding hard enough to hurt.

“SLYTHERIN!”

“What?”

“No!”

There was uproar, nearly as much as there had been when Harry had been Sorted. The rest of the Weasleys at the Gryffindor table were on their feet, all talking at the tops of their voices, and Professor McGonagall looked equally nonplussed.

Harry didn’t care. He was so relieved he thought he might burst. Ron was in Slytherin. He wasn’t alone.

Professor McGonagall recovered herself, and gave Ron a gentle push in the direction of the Slytherin table. Ron sank onto the bench next to Harry. His face was very pale, his freckles standing out in sharp relief, but he managed a weak grin.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry laughed, and he didn’t care that nerves made it sound hysterical. A first year a few seats away, Nott-something, rolled his eyes, and pointedly turned to talk to Malfoy, but Harry didn’t care. Whatever happened now, they could handle it.

“I thought you wanted Gryffindor,” he said, when he had caught his breath.

Ron shrugged. “The Hat made some good arguments. And, well, at least people can tell me apart from the rest of them now.”

Despite his confident tone, Harry noticed that he was carefully avoiding looking at the Gryffindor table. The rest of the Weasleys had quietened, thanks to McGonagall’s glare, but they all looked upset and confused, and Harry’s stomach twisted.

“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “You’re still you, right? They can’t...they have to know that.”

Ron gave a slightly queasy looking smile, and looked back towards the front of the Hall. Harry followed his gaze, and saw that the very last boy was being Sorted now. Nott huffed and looked up from examining his goblet with a bored scowl.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Everyone knows Zabini will be-”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Nott dropped the goblet.

“What?” Malfoy demanded.

He wasn’t the only one. Students up and down the Slytherin table, and at the other tables for that matter, were exchanging startled whispers. Harry glanced at Ron, and was relieved to see that he, at least, looked as confused as he felt.

“Zabini,” Ron muttered under his breath. “I think I’ve heard that name somewhere…”

Harry shook his head. Nott threw them both an exasperated look and turned back to the head table without bothering to explain. Harry looked over to where Zabini was taking a seat next to Hermione Granger. He seemed perfectly at ease, even amused by the commotion he had caused. Even as Harry stared, Zabini caught his eye and gave him a bright smile, before turning to accept a welcoming handshake from Percy.

Harry stared a moment longer, before looking back at his own plate. What had that been about? He made a firm mental note to keep an eye on Zabini, but then Albus Dumbledore was rising to his feet, and Harry forgot everything else. He settled in, expecting one of the long speeches his primary school headmistress had been so fond of, but the wizarding world surprised him once again.

“Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

Harry found himself staring again, until Ron elbowed him. “Harry, food!”

Harry had never seen so much food in his life, but even as he started helping himself to everything in arm’s reach, he couldn’t help but look back up at the staff table. Dumbledore was tucking merrily into some roast beef, his beard thrown back over his shoulder to keep it out the way. Harry swallowed.

“Ron, is the Headmaster, well…”

“Senile?” suggested one of the older boys, leading to a round of snickers. Ron went bright red, but stuffed a forkful of turkey into his mouth instead of arguing. Harry let out a breath; he didn’t want to start a fight on their very first night.

The girl on Harry’s other side rolled her eyes. “He’s old, and the most powerful wizard in the country,” she said dryly. “Of course he’s odd.” She caught Harry’s eye, and held out a hand. “Daphne Greengrass,” she introduced herself.

Harry shook it. “Harry Potter.”

“We know,” said the dark-skinned girl sitting opposite Daphne, but at least she smiled as she said it. “I’m Tracey Davis.” She looked past him to Ron. “Interesting to see a Weasley in Slytherin.”

Ron swallowed his food, and shrugged. “Had to happen sooner or later.”

There was a snort from further up at the table, and Harry was somehow unsurprised to see Malfoy sneering. “I don’t know what Slytherin is coming to,” he said. “Blood-traitors, half-bloods. What’s next, Mu-”

“Watch yourself, Malfoy,” said Tracey. Her voice was quite polite, but her hand had drifted close to her wand. Her eyes flickered pointedly up to the head table. Malfoy sneered, but turned to continue his conversation with one of the upper years.

Harry had no idea what Malfoy was talking about, but the looks on Ron’s and Tracey’s faces were enough for him to glare at Malfoy. Tracey picked up her knife again, then looked Harry straight in the eye.

“My father is a Muggle,” she said clearly. “Everyone already knows, it’s no secret.”

“And my mother was a Muggle-born,” said Harry, with a slow nod. He didn’t understand why it made a difference, but he got that there was one. Next to him, Ron sighed.

“Forgot how seriously Slytherins take this stuff,” he muttered. Then he shrugged, and took a jacket potato. “Too late to change now.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about,” she pointed out.

Harry shot a questioning glance at Ron, who shook his head. “I’ll explain it all later,” he promised. “Go on, you need to eat more.”

He had a point, and Harry spent the next few minutes enjoying the best meal he had ever had in his life. He paid attention to the conversation around him though, quickly identifying fellow first-years Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, and confirming that Malfoy was just as much of an arrogant prat as he had suspected. He was tuning out a story about flying in favour of reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice when Ron suddenly dropped his cutlery with a loud clatter. Harry looked up, and found himself face to face with a grim, blood-stained ghost.

Maybe it was just one shock too many after the day he had had, but Harry just stared back.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello. How do you do?”

Pansy let out a squeak, and scooted away from him up the bench. Harry glanced round, and saw everyone watching him in open-mouthed amazement. Malfoy in particular looked torn between screaming and running from the hall.

An odd, rasping noise drew Harry’s attention back to the ghost. His gaunt face was twisted into a mocking grin, and Harry realised with a start that the noise was supposed to be laughter. After a very awkward moment, the ghost shook his head and looked back at Harry.

“Good evening, Harry Potter. I will be keeping a close eye on you.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “I, er, okay then.”

The ghost inclined his head, and strode off through the table towards the older students. Harry watched him go in bemusement, and then realised that everyone was gaping at him.

“What?”

Ron’s face was slowly regaining its colour, but he still looked shaken. “How did you do that?”

Harry could only shrug. After everything that had happened today, a bloody ghost didn’t seem like such a big deal. Nott stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Potter, that was the Bloody Baron. People don’t talk to him.”

Harry felt the blush start to spread across his cheeks, and had to fight the urge to duck his head. He was getting tired of everyone looking at him. He started on his dinner again, despite no longer being hungry, and Ron followed suit after only a second’s hesitation. Harry could feel the stares from the other first years, and older students for that matter, but he ignored them and eventually the various conversation around them resumed. He stabbed moodily at his untouched vegetables and sighed. At this rate, it was going to be a long seven years.

By the time the puddings had come and gone, Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open. He nearly groaned when Dumbledore stood up again, but the Headmaster’s words were enough to wake him up.

“What does he mean, a most painful death?”

He was relieved when the other Slytherins looked as startled as he felt. Malfoy’s mouth was already curling into a sneer, but Nott, Parkinson and the others were listening with the utmost attention. Harry glanced round the Great Hall. Some students seemed to be taking the warning as a bit of a joke, Ron’s twin brothers included, but most were frowning as they listened. Blaise Zabini, Harry noticed, looked as thoughtful as Percy Weasley.

“Blimey,” Ron whispered next to him. “I know Charlie said he was a bit mental, but no one ever said anything like this.”

Harry swallowed. Just when he thought the year couldn’t get any more complicated.

After a rendition of the school song that left Harry with even more doubts regarding the Headmaster’s sanity, the feast finally came to an end. Full and sleepy, Harry and Ron followed the rest of their new housemates down a flight of stairs and along a number of twisting corridors before finally coming to an unremarkable stretch of wall. A tall, blonde girl glanced round and smiled at the first years.

“Make sure you remember this spot. Knowing the password won’t do much good if you’re talking to a normal wall.”

Harry frowned, but his confusion cleared when the girl turned back to the wall and said clearly, “Wolfsbane.”

The wall slid aside, and Harry followed her through a stone archway into the Slytherin Common Room. At his shoulder, Ron gasped.

“Wow.”

That about summed up Harry’s feelings too. He’d guessed they were underground from the amount of stairs they had taken, but he hadn’t expected the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling and revealed the inky depths of the lake. The room was lit by torches and fireplaces that burned with strange green flames, and every decoration and piece of furniture spoke of understated elegance. It was a far cry from the fastidious modern fashions that Aunt Petunia favoured. Maybe that was why Harry immediately decided he liked it.

The older students scattered to the various chairs, or to their dormitories, with the exception of the blonde who had given the password. She had walked to the centre of the room, where she was joined by a slightly shorter Middle Eastern boy. They spoke quietly together for a minute, then the girl clapped her hands.

“All right, first years over here, please.”

Malfoy promptly pushed his way to the front. Harry caught Ron grumbling under his breath as they stopped next to Tracey Davies, who smiled at them before focusing on the older students.

“My name is Gemma Farley,” said the girl, “and this is Mohammed Shafiq. We are the fifth year prefects for Slytherin, and so we are the ones you can come to if you get into trouble.”

“Or if you simply want some advice,” Shafiq added. There was a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes. “Whatever you might have heard about Slytherins, we do look out for each other, whether that means standing up to the other houses, or just sharing some of our hard-earned wisdom.” He grinned. “And trust me, you’ll appreciate it after your first History of Magic lesson.”

Farley rolled her eyes. “Very true. However, while we’re on the topic of what you might have heard about Slytherins…”

But Harry never got to find that out. A dark figure had suddenly appeared in the archway, and silence immediately fell over the room. Glittering eyes met Harry’s, and Harry had to resist the urge to step back. Not even Uncle Vernon had looked at him with such open dislike.

Farley recovered first, and inclined her head respectfully.

“Good evening, Professor Snape. We weren’t expecting you.”

Snape’s eyes left Harry’s, and he moved forward until he was standing next to her. “Good evening, Miss Farley. I will take it from here.”

Harry swallowed. Snape’s voice was low and smooth, but there was an authority in it that caught and held the attention of everyone in the house. Both prefects stepped aside immediately, and Snape fixed gimlet eyes on the first years.

“You have been sorted into Slytherin House.”

His voice was so quiet that everyone had to strain to hear it. Harry hardly dared to breathe.

“If you are here, then somewhere within you lies the seeds of greatness. Slytherin will help you develop whatever gifts and talents you may possess, and allow you to pursue whatever ambitions you may hold.” He paused, and his eyes hardened. “Provided, of course, that you do truly belong here.”

His eyes met Harry’s, and there was no mistaking the disdain there. “I expect nothing but the best from each and every one of you. Ignorance, and lack of understanding,” his eyes flickered to Ron before returning to Harry, “are no excuse. Should any student here bring shame or ridicule upon this house, I can assure you that the consequences will be…unpleasant.”

Harry glared back. He still wasn’t sure why he was here, but the fact that Snape didn’t seem to think he should be was enough to make his blood burn. He saw Snape’s eyes narrow as the Professor continued, “I expect your behaviour, and performance in class to be of credit to Slytherin, and to me. Anything else will not be tolerated.” His eyes glittered at Harry, even as his lip curled into a sneer. “No matter how…celebrated the culprit may be.”

With that he nodded to the silent prefects and swept from the room, his black cloak billowing behind him. Harry let out a slightly shaky breath.

The whispering began the moment everyone was sure Snape was gone. Harry glanced round, and saw the older students exchange unreadable looks. Next to him, Ron shifted.

“That was weird,” he muttered.

Harry just nodded. He felt it would be rather melodramatic to voice his suspicions that Snape already disliked him. They had never even spoken to each other. Shafiq cleared his throat, and Harry shook himself and returned his attention to the prefects.

“As Professor Snape so eloquently pointed out, we do have high expectations. However, we also understand that not everyone expected to be here.” His glance at Ron was much more welcoming than Snape’s had been. “We would much rather you come to us if you require any assistance, rather than embarrass yourselves in front of the other houses, whether that is in your studies, or in general wizarding matters.”

Harry frowned, not understanding what he meant by general wizarding matters. He would have to ask Ron. It was good to know the prefects were options if his friend couldn’t help, but Harry was getting the impression that it was better not to let people know when you didn’t know something in Slytherin.

Farley was nodding agreement. “Exactly. Now, I know it’s getting late, so we’ll leave it there and you can come and see us if you have any questions.” She hesitated a moment, then straightened her shoulders. “And no matter what you might have heard of Slytherin’s reputation, we look after our own. No matter what political, personal, or familial disputes you might be involved in, you are all Slytherins now. Don’t let us down.”

“No pressure,” Ron whispered, but he looked more cheerful than he had while Snape had been around. Harry nodded, then found himself suppressing a yawn.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m exhausted.”

Yawning, they followed Shafiq and the other first year boys down yet another flight of stairs. Eventually Shafiq came to to a halt by a tall door, and glanced at them.

“All six of you will be in here this year,” he said. “All students share a dormitory until sixth year, when they may share a study between two, if Professor Snape agrees.” He smiled. “Think of it as an incentive to not cause any trouble until then.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who looked horrified at the thought of having to share a room, and bit back his own grin. Shafiq stepped aside and waved them in. “Breakfast starts at seven, and I’ll be in the Common Room at ten to if you can’t remember the way. If you want to sleep later, you’ll have to ask one of the other prefects or older students to help you.” He paused. “Not Burke. He doesn’t function well in the mornings. But Professor Snape will be giving out your timetables, so make sure you do turn up. Anyway, sleep well.”

Malfoy promptly shoved past Nott so that he was the first one to enter, oblivious to the dark-haired boy’s scowl. Harry gave Shafiq a smile as he passed, and was glad when it was returned, along with a clap on the back. He followed Nott through a short passage that emerged into a large circular room with six beds already made up. Each four-poster had deep green drapes, and looked so comfortable that Harry somehow felt even more tired. He stumbled towards the bed that had his trunk next to it, only to find his way blocked.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “But since you are, I think now would be a good time-”

“Malfoy, the only thing I’m doing now is going to bed,” Harry interrupted flatly. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to risk being late tomorrow and get into trouble on your first day?”

Malfoy hesitated, and Harry took the opportunity to slip past him. Ron folded his arms. “We’re going to be stuck together for the next five years,” he said. “How about we decide to leave each other alone in here, so that we can at least get separate rooms in the last couple of years, eh?” His eyes glinted. “Otherwise, I suppose having five elder brothers might come in handy.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but Nott was nodding. “Agreed. Nothing happens in here. I am not getting caught in the middle of anything, especially not something thought up by a Weasley.”

Ron nodded, winked at Harry, and turned back to Malfoy. Malfoy eyed him, eyes flickering between Crabbe and Goyle and the rest of the room, before his lip finally curled into a sneer. “Fine, but you stay out of my way, Weasel.”

Ron’s jaw tightened, but Harry caught his eye and shook his head and the redhead visibly controlled himself. He claimed the bed next to Harry’s, and under the guise of retrieving his pyjamas from his trunk whispered to Harry, “Can you get up half an hour earlier tomorrow? There’s some stuff you should know, now that we’re here.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed quickly. “Thanks.”

Ron grinned at him. “Don’t mention it. We’re going to have to watch out for each other.”

Warmth filled Harry’s chest. He’d never had anyone watch out for him before, or anyone to watch out for for that matter. Ron winked and straightened up, and Harry turned back to his own trunk with renewed determination.

That Sorting Hat had said that he would do well in Slytherin. He was going to prove it right.

* * *

In the Gryffindor dormitories, safe in the privacy of his four poster bed, Blaise Zabini finally let his smile fade. He watched his shaking hands with abject detachment for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached for his quill.

His mother was not going to be pleased.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any feedback would be appreciated.
> 
> This is one of many stress relief projects that I've been working on over the past year. I can't promise regular updates, but I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Come and find me on Tumblr for fanfic-related stuff: https://izzyaro.tumblr.com


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